The House of Flies
by Chiara13
Summary: Ginny Weasley finds out that the dark side is much like dying. You only really know what it’s like after you’ve crossed over.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Ginny Weasley finds out that the dark side is much like dying. You only really know what it's like after you've crossed over.**

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Status: WIP**

**Ships: D/G, R/Hr, LM/NM (so far)**

**A/N1:Like its writer this story will go through many mood changes because I can't picture anything in life being one-dimensional regardless of which faction you belong to. So if you like angst, you'll get it here and if you like lighter moods you'll find them as well. I'm giving you all fair warning LOL.**

**A/N2: The idea of each Death Eater having their own individual "talents" was inspired by a Skull Bearer's fanfiction "The Dark Lord's Death Eaters" which can be found at The first line of this fic was also inspired on a Skull Bearer's fiction named "Do you feel brave." I've never read it, though.**

**A/N3: The title of this story is inspired on the Deftones song "Change In The House Of Flies". ****This story isn't however a songfic.**

**Spoilers: I'll pick and choose things from books 1-6 but it starts in the future so whatever AU-ishness you should be made aware of will be explained throughout the fic.**

"Do you feel brave now, Ronald?"

The young woman asked sweetly, her bony, delicate hands running lovingly through her victim's heavy red locks.

Ron Weasley's eyes were filled with fear, at the tender display more than anything. There was no way of protecting himself, of keeping his guard up when he didn't know what to expect.

But the part he hated the most wasn't the pain that was about to come, or that he had already betrayed the Order and was about to do even more damage in the near future. Of all his regrets and apprehensions what stung the most was that Malfoy had been right all those years ago. And how fucking damaged was he, that at death's door after, even if unwillingly, selling out his closest friends, his own bloody family, that the one disappointment that he would, quite literally, never die down, was that yet again he'd pass as Harry's inconsequential, stubborn, weak friend?

He'd set his mind to change people's impression of him. Of course no one ever said anything to his face but he knew what went through people's minds. Well, not literally, because that was a skill he hadn't mastered yet. Oh, he knew Occlumency alright; it was one of the requirements to become an Auror-in-training. The Auror Academy's standards were high, even in these times of desperate need. But like that greasy haired git Snape took such delight in pointing out it wasn't in his blood, in his over the top, hardheaded, Weasley genes to be cold and detached enough to turn his mind into a needle-point, sharp enough to go through people's defenses.

It was rumored certain wizards, mostly Death Eaters seeing as all forms of mind control (excluding in times of war) were considered to be illegal, could actually perform Legilimency from great distances, not requiring the usual eye-contact necessary for the average mind-reader who'd mastered the skill.

And his suspicions that all the ethics and higher-road-ish behavior adopted by the "Light" side was what was going to lose them this atrocious war were yet again confirmed when his tormentor laughed from the blacksmith's stove where she was reheating the pair of pliers she'd been using on his freckled skin for the last fifteen minutes.

"What would the Wizarding world's mighty savior think if he could hear you right now, Ronnie?"

The girl's voice tinkled with amusement that could be heard all the way to where he was laying, prostrate, all four limbs bound, and she was lucky she'd bothered to restrain him too instead of just taking away his wand, because his hand had just spasmed to hit her when she used Mione's intimate nickname for him. But he couldn't think of that now, he wouldn't give the bitch more ammunition.

"You might as well reminisce, Ronald. Merlin knows this will be the last chance you'll get to do it."

She said in that friendly tone that never ceased to make his skin crawl. After three dreadful, heart wrenching years of raw open war, with as many casualties as they'd all had to endure and the losses what weighted him down the most were still the betrayals.

"Oh, don't shed any tears for me, Ronnikins."

She pouted walking back to his side and his eyes went reflexively to her hands, the branding to come expected but still dreaded. She gave him a small grin at this obvious display of emotion and he flinched at yet again looking weak, though he guessed in the position he was currently in, that was pretty much a moot point.

Ron started spouting some profanities at that but quickly gave up since with the silencing charm placed on him all he was succeeding in was drooling all over himself.

"Don't overexert yourself, honey. You don't have to speak. Just keep thinking loud and clear the way you've been doing all night and we can keep taking our little "chat" breaks."

She chuckled while making quotation marks in the air and Ron's eyes actually widened a little as it finally dawned on him that it wasn't an act. That if it wasn't for the whole Medieval torture chamber setting and the dry, stale smelling stains of blood on her incongruently white overalls and splattered across her face making her freckled in an eerie way the sun never would, as far as Ginny…scratch that, Ginevra Gaunt was concerned, they might as well be taking Earl Grey with blueberry scones back at the Burrow.

She kept the same sunny disposition, chatty amiability and casualness about her as she usually did back when he, Harry and his brothers would barge in on one of Hermione's "top secret" meetings with her bridesmaids on Godric's Hollow after a pickup game of Quidditch.

Ginevra smiled fondly as they "shared" that memory and he'd never wanted to Avada Kedavra someone as badly in his whole life, not even Malfoy.

"Come on, Ron! Don't be like that! I genuinely liked her."

She sighed after the last part, looking something remotely forlorn for the first time since they'd been holed up on those damp dungeons. Ron just felt like screaming at the insult of Hermione's memory. And he did, lack of sound be damned. Death was a certainty right now, so if letting go of his anger was the way to go, at least he would've done it on his own terms. Of course the damned hag wouldn't allow him even that smallest of respites.

"Now, now, Ron, no suicidal impulses allowed. Not until I'm through with you anyway." Ginevra winked at him.

From the way her face subtly tightened readying for the "impact", Ron could tell she had read the impulse forming in his brain way before his muscles went about acting on it and he secretly commended her on taking it like a man. Then again, aside from Harry and Voldemort themselves, she probably had the biggest balls in the whole mess, if the horror stories and what he'd already endured himself were anything to go by.

Regardless of his misplaced sense of admiration he felt slightly vindicated as the lugie splashed against her left cheek. He knew it was a childish pleasure but at this stage he'd take whatever he could get.

"How very…Muggle of you, Ronald." She replied wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. "But if that's what you need to do to work through your pent up aggression, then I'll allow it." She bowed her head condescendingly as she finally lifted her spell from him.

"How magnanimous on your part." He spat out venomously, less emphatically than he'd have liked as his throat was sore from screaming.

But just being able to talk normally again instead of the constant mind-rape he'd been subjected to up to that moment was worth working through the pain. He knew she's probably still poking around inside his brain but when she didn't go about it in such a standoffish way he didn't notice it as much. Denial was a priceless commodity when you're in a tight spot like the one he's in.

"Uh, a big word. Well, I guess your wife must have left you quite the library."

She conceded sounding aloof however the barb was not missed as she knew it wouldn't. He should feel insulted that she wasn't even trying very hard, that she wasn't even putting her best effort on her general torture of him, but right then he could only feel grateful.

"Is that what your grudge with us is? Is that why you turned? Because you can't understand love?"

The redhead suddenly broke out laughing and he was still distracted by the oddness of that sound amongst the moans of agony he could pick up from the other chambers around theirs so it took Ron a couple of seconds to register that the shouts mingling with her cackling were his own, as she'd once again applied the burning iron to his abused flesh.

"Argh, cunt!"

He finally managed to cough out a couple of minutes later after the metal had been removed and his mind stopped reeling from the shock.

"See Ron, that's the problem with you and the very reason why you never managed to step out of the shadow of the trio."

She explained patiently as if enlightening him as to why a lesser "Hover Charm" was preferable to "Wingardium Leviosa" when it came to lifting lighter objects.

"You're a nice guy, if a little tactless and unrefined, but that goes without saying what with you being a Weasley and a Gryffindor on top of it," He had to strain to hear the last part as it come out muffled with her face inside a cupboard, feeling around for a vial, he guessed.

"But your problem really, is that you just _don't get it_." She emphasized the three last words with flamboyant gestures with the hand that either held Bubblejuice or Veritaserum. He was inclined to the latter but you never knew with these completely mental dark witches.

"And that's why Potter and Granger, may her soul rest in peace," She added as an afterthought. "Will always top you. Because you're trying so bloody hard to make it look like you're in control and that you know what you're doing and so set in your ways that you've shut yourself to all types of learning and thus to improving."

And she had the gall to say that in the same tone Molly Weasley used to explain to him why he should eat his Brussels sprouts once a week. Like it wasn't more than his due to listen, and worse like it was spoken out of genuine concern. He really, really could bite her jugular right now if he could only get the head leverage necessary. Of course, the evil slag had seen to that, as well.

"Oh, come on, you can't hate me for saying this!" Ginevra smiled as she started enumerating. "You _can_ hate me for offering to be your Secret-Keeper _and then_ finding a way of breaking the spell _and_ giving out the location to a gaggle of Death Eaters _who in turn _crashed your wedding, caused a fire ultimately resulting in your young bride's demise,"

She finished with a shit-eating "so-there" grin. "But you _**cannot**_get mad at me for giving you sound advice."

Ginny wrapped up with an open face and so matter-of-factly that the redheaded man couldn't even retort. Her behavior had again rendered him speechless. She pointed with her head to his general direction while her hands where occupied mixing the (supposedly) Veritaserum with something else in a glass.

"Do you see _now _what I'm talking about?" She almost squeaked in her disbelief at her brother's actions.

"You're still shocked! _How_ do you manage to withhold that sort of naiveté is beyond me."

She continued while sprinkling something inside the tall glass that looked distinctly like Bulbadox powder, but he wasn't sure. Either way, if he was the one having to drink the concoction he was just glad he'd always been rubbish at Potions.

"I'm not asking you to be all "The Dark Lord's spirit trapped in a diary took me over and pushed me to murder at the tender age of eleven" savvy or anything!"

She said as a weary professor trying to teach "Alohomora" to an especially thick first year seemingly oblivious to Ron's sudden lividness at the veiled mention of his sister. The version he had considered family, anyways.

"But you, dear brother, you'd do well to wise up." She said walking towards him, still stirring her potion. "Not that it's gonna do you much good at this point but I feel like I'd be doing you a disservice by letting you die without understanding this."

At this point Ginny got right up on his face, her silky long locks framing her familiar features and blocking his view from the rest of the room, the sudden darkness making him jumpy but the forceful fingers pressing against his jaw, forcing it open were what disturbed him the most. One thing was _knowing_ you'd have to swallow a mixture of truth potion and boil provoking herb; it was a completely different concept actually being force-fed the blasted thing.

"Ron, be a sport about it!" She moaned scarily resembling her ten-year-old version while asking him to borrow his broom. "I could Imperio you or dislocate your jaw or stab a pen on your throat and use it as a straw…actually now that I'm thinking about it…"

The twinkle in her eye at the prospect did him in.

"Alright…alright, I'll drink the bloody thing!"

Ron agreed hastily without putting up much of a fight. Whatever they had kidnapped him to find out had already been disclosed to her via her special mental version of the Salem Trials. His Occlumency had held up for some good ninety minutes and he was damn proud of it. Word had it that Shacklebolt had cracked after mere fifty minutes under her expert hands. And in his current realm of possibilities some purulent aching sores beat getting his pharynges punctured any time. Still, he couldn't help making a face at the horrible aftertaste, as the slimy liquid went down his throat.

"Don't be like that; I even threw a couple of cinnamon sticks in it."

He gave her a doubtful look but she just shrugged while using "_Evanesco_" to get rid of the glass. And Ron had to hand it to her again. He'd been over the moon the day he'd managed his first Unforgivable without needing to speak aloud and here she was making things vanish into thin air without even needing to use a wand.

That display, more than anything she'd put him through so far, made him wish he'd been handed to someone else. Other followers had captured him, Ginevra having been assigned as the Dark Lord's personal bodyguard and not leaving his "bunker" for raids or flash-attacks anymore.

It wasn't like Ron could be picky with his options ranging from being raped by a zombie controlled by Walden Macnair or being Crucio-ed by the Death Eater specialist, and he'd have had to be fucking amazing at his craft to be considered a specialist on torture amidst_ this_ bunch, Antonin Dolohov, but as twisted as it may sound, those guys would've given him hope. Hope that a gathering of mentally deranged, power hungry, egocentrical loose canons would invariably self-destruct and that the dissentions and the turning in on each other to save their own hide would prove to be more lethal and detrimental to Voldemort's aspirations than any attack the "light" side could launch.

But wandless magic? That was a whole different game; actually it wasn't even in the same ballpark. Ron didn't mislead himself into believing he knew everything, even as inside the inner-circle as he was there were secrets that Harry and even Hermione had never shared, and now reflecting on his current position he thought they'd been wise.

However, he knew enough to realize that even without all the aid the Dark Lord had managed to gather, since as far back as the days when Umbridge and Sectumsempra seemed the most horrifying things in the world, that the Order of the Phoenix and all its allies' futures looked dim if wizards of Ginevra's caliber were what they'd have to go up against.

Because he trusted Harry and his abilities; trusted his courage and his heart to help him rise above any challenge. But Harry was only one twenty-three year old man. And even Harry had to at least mumble his intent before making it come true. And Ron didn't care if he died for a cause, his and his dead wife's and his struggling family's cause. The cause that had already brought about so much grief and pain. But a cause that he'd had, up until minutes ago, not realized was doomed.

And at that moment, Ron felt a despair of the likes he'd never experienced, even when the mediwizard had come into the waiting room to deliver news that Hermione's burns had been too severe and that her body had slipped into a coma due to shock and that even if she eventually woke up, it was possible that the infections would kill her. But _nothing_ he'd felt before could measure up to the distress he started to feel, because before there'd been hope, hope that their effort was worth something, that their sacrifice wasn't in vain. But right now…there wasn't anything left.

Ginevra could feel the last strain of resistance in her brother's mind give under her magic's plowing force. After five hours of torturing her own blood the time she'd been holding out for had finally come. She was finally free to go in and reap her ultimate prize.

Ronald Bilius Weasley was ready to die.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

1- I tried but couldn't remain a 100 imune to DH canon so some of it will be incorporated here but it'll appear in my story more as vague references than anything else. Still, spoiler alert!

2- I don't live in Germany nor have I ever visited Berlin (though I plan to) so some of the information about the city might be a little inaccurate or vague, sorry for that.

3- The vocabulary you need to know

Kriegsakademie Prussian (Potsdam) Military Academy  
Obergruppenführer Senior Group Leader  
Totenkopf "Is the German word for "death head" or "death's head" and is used to describe a military insignia featuring a skull above crossed bones."

4- The parts in italics happened in the past (in this specific case earlier that same day)

After Ginny trekked the last few steps leading out of the underground tube station she had to stop for a few moments to get her bearings. It had been an eventful day, to say the least and now, roughly twenty-six hours after she'd been standing in this very spot, the magnitude of the changes that had taken place in that period of time were finally catching up to her. Not that anyone would be able to tell. Externally, the only difference to be noted was in the black leather bag hanging from her left shoulder. It was fuller. The mass of rumpled, stained fabric stashed away in it now had been on her body in the form of a pristine charcoal uniform. The plastic bag filled to the brim with ashes had been her brother.

_She had kept a stony façade and brisk steps, careful not to falter in front of the recruits as she'd made her way through the corridors of the Potsdam Military Academy. Ginevra Gaunt had become a living legend amongst her juniors in the Walpurgis Youth after being assigned as the Obergruppenführer of the Protective Squadron, and her unexpected appearance on her old haunting grounds had caused quite the stir--or as much of it as there would be amongst the most disciplined young recruits in the recent history of the wizarding world._

As a Kriegsakademie graduate herself, Ginny knew that any behavior that deviated from the strict rule code of the institution would be severely punished; she had experienced the place's very own brand of tough love in the past, and for once she was glad for it. She had needed a place to regroup undisturbed before facing her superiors and the Spartan accommodations, originally designed to house the 18th century Muggle army, gave off a sterile vibe that always worked wonders on her frazzled nerves.

Ginevra had been doing this job for over three years now. Before starting on her new position, she'd been the head of the Totenkopf , the elite extermination division of the Coalition's army, the most brutal of them all.

You wouldn't see her or one of her men in the battlefields. No, the heat of the fray hardly agreed with the glacial ruthlessness of their unit. They were employed only for the jobs that the other, lesser, soldiers couldn't stomach.

Jobs like the cold-blooded murders of former allies, who hadn't even realized the depth of their loyalty, had been in check, until it was too late. But His Lordship appreciated a thorough job; there shouldn't be anyone left to tell the tale or seek revenge. And so Ginny and her troop killed indiscriminately: wives, children, house-elves.

They were also responsible for all sorts of intimidation--whatever pressure needed to be applied to achieve a certain goal, to wipe away everything that might stand between them and their targets.

Ginevra was a seasoned pro who'd learned that all the Philosophy classes she had attended in Kriegsakademie were worth dragon dung when it was time to rest your head on your pillow every night. That all the magical and Muggle thinkers in the world couldn't come up with an ideology that would justify some of your most atrocious behavior. 

That the almost Pavlovian conditioning the recruits were treated to and the blind obedience to orders they were taught wasn't much help when it came to rationalizing your actions to your conscience. That the only thing that would get you through in the end was finding your own inner sanctuary and keeping it hidden in a place deep down where none of the ugliness you created or were exposed to could taint it.

Today, that remaining little corner of peace she had left had been shattered. After her…victim had finally expired and her mission was accomplished, Ginny had felt uncharacteristically hollow. She wasn't fanatical in regards to their cause, but she'd always taken her duties very seriously, and once the initial wave of shock of having taken a life had finally worn off, the undeniable power behind the action had started taking a hold of her. Then, after some more time had passed, it had, quite frankly, become mechanical. She was still deeply invested and involved with the thought process behind their killings, the vast plotting that went into it, the tactics, the weapons, the spells, the assigning of each soldier for a specific mission that would agree with them, but as she rose in their ranks she had distanced herself from the actual act of extinguishing a life, become almost desensitized to the outcome that all of her planning would ultimately lead to. Today had been a harsh wake up call.

And so she'd sat on the cold stone floor of the torture chamber, staring blankly ahead, until one of the squib servants came in to collect the body.

The middle-aged man hadn't seen her as he rolled in a steel gurney and placed it near the table where the corpse was lying. He grunted with the strain of trying to move the Viking-sized man without the aide of magic.

On some level Ginny realized she should offer to help the poor bastard; it would only take a flick of her hand, after all, but the only thing she could focus on was a memory of her and Ron mock wrestling in the Burrow's backyard during Christmas break her third year, as her hulking brother taught her how to avert unwanted attention by the Hogwarts male population. She had only been able to throw him down when he lost his footing because of the snow.

A sharp intake of breath let her know her cover had been blown. She must look quite wretched if a man who hadn't blinked in the face of a mangled corpse had been startled by her appearance.

"I'm sorry, miss, I thought there wasn't anybody left." He groveled pathetically, " I should have knocked before coming in. I will put it back right away, miss, just give me one second." The balding squib resumed his grunting now attempting to roll the body back to the table.

"No, it's okay. I'm done here," she said, slowly rising from the floor, her muscles straining painfully. She must've been there longer than she'd realized. As she bypassed the man who was now closing the zip on the body bag, he stopped her with a disgruntled tone. He obviously wanted to be there as much as she did.

"Excuse me, miss."

"Yes?" Ginny asked flatly.

"Do you have any instructions about the disposal of the body? The usual thing is cremation, but sometimes people ask me to cu…"

"Stop," she hissed, visibly paling.

Ginevra didn't have the slightest interest in what disturbing ways previous victims had been handled; subconsciously, she realized all the other political prisoners she'd sent to Nurmengard had been exterminated, but she'd never cared for the post-mortem procedures. Now the undignified, impersonal manner in which they must have been treated was suddenly affecting her. She needed to get away.

"I'll be in the women's barracks taking a shower. Please have the ashes delivered there after you...finish."

"As you wish, miss." The man bowed unnecessarily, as she was long gone before he'd finished speaking. 

When Ginny came out of the bathroom, an enormous grey eagle owl was perched on top of a thin army cot, the only piece of furniture in the otherwise bare room. Even if she hadn't seen that specific bird before she'd be able to guess whom it belonged to simply from the haughty way its alert eyes observed the uncouth surroundings.

"Lucky for us we're both leaving soon," Ginny commiserated with the bird as it extended its leg agreeably.

So unlike Pigwidgeon, who would've nipped her hand as soon as she approached, probably figuring her finger was a tasty treat. The redhead highly doubted that the Malfoys's main owl had ever known one day of starvation in its whole life, however, so no such untoward behavior was displayed. 

The owl waited patiently as Ginny read its master's note and wrote a quick missive of her own, letting him know she would run one more errand and then go meet him. As soon as the parchment was secured the regal bird spread its massive wings and took off in a perfect straight line, shooting up like an arrow through the skylight window.  


The city hadn't changed much after she'd moved back to England, and even though she kept a posh flat in Prenzlauerberg, it had been a couple of years since she'd crossed the barrier that separated the modern station of the line U2 of the city underground from the romantically tinged Neoclassicism of the Schinkel-inspired Academy building.

The two "realities" were kept apart with the same glamours used on Platform 9 and ¾ and King's Cross station. The only difference being that instead of just risking plowing head first into a wall, you actually have to jump on the train track and walk into the tunnel, driving across quite clearly the point that you're required to have a bit more of a backbone to study in the Potsdam Military Academy than to attend Hogwarts.

Her hesitation in walking to the apparition point that'd allow her to get to the Malfoys's secondary residence in the district of Charlottenburg, however, had more to do with Ginevra feeling unsettled about the impeding meeting than with her need to allow her surroundings to sink in.

Yes, she'd had time to deal with her personal issues and yes, it had overall been a flawless job, but even though she'd managed to gather massive amounts of relevant information on the Resistance's efforts, Ginny had, ultimately, failed her superiors.

Either Ron had never been aware of it or he'd managed to Obliviate himself before he was captured; whatever had been the case, the simple truth was she was going to have to meet Lucius Malfoy and tell him they still had no idea where Harry Potter was hiding.

Now that was something to look forward to, Ginny thought bitterly, as she was engulfed by the crowd of pedestrians.

"Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm so sorry about the hour, but your husband asked me to stop by as soon as I had news," Ginny started as soon as the tall blonde opened the door. Malfoy Manor was protected by dark, ancient magic that couldn't be replicated anywhere else, regardless of how strong the caster, so in their little refuge away from home the family was being forced to keep a somewhat low profile, which meant no magical creatures in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood.

"Oh, never mind, dear. And I think I've already told you to call me by my first name? Mrs. Malfoy was Lucius's mother, may Morgana have her soul," Narcissa said, guiding Ginny to a white leather ottoman. 

Of what Ginny recalled from her few visits to their English property, it had all been done in a heavy gothic style, and while the room she was currently in looked no less expensive, the oppressive feeling was substituted for clean lines and light colors. Lots of leather, glass and steel, the decorations seemed to be in sync with the town.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm not sure if that would be proper…"

"Come off it, Ginevra! You're no different from the other children, now." Ginny did not miss the underlined condescension on that "now". "Why shouldn't I treat you accordingly?"

"Aunt Cissy, your bloody son asked me to…"

A tall dark man rushed into the room, displaying all the familiarity with the Malfoy matriarch Ginny knew she'd never feel comfortable engaging in, even if they stayed friends for the rest of their lives. The older woman acted in a very open manner, but there was something so detached and prohibitive about her ways that just didn't allow Ginny to relax around her. She'd known motherly warmth firsthand, and Narcissa Malfoy was definitely not the textbook definition.

"Oh, hello there, Gaunt. Did I know you were coming over?" Blaise Zabini asked in the same rambunctious way, not allowing his obvious surprise at her presence to break his stride.

"Well, Zabini, seeing as you aren't the master of the manor, I don't see any reason you should," the redhead retorted, immediately feeling more at ease. Blaise had been the first to welcome her into their midst. He chalked it up to his Italian candidness; Ginny personally thought he'd been just trying to bed her. For whatever reason, they had forged the closest thing she had to a friendship these days.

"Feisty!" He chuckled, reading the playfulness behind her words. "Do you see, Aunt Cissy, what we blokes have to deal with nowadays?" Blaise asked, throwing a casual arm around the older woman's bony shoulders in a way that, Ginny would bet her last galleon, would've gotten him slapped by Narcissa where he anyone else. "They don't make them like you anymore!"

"They never did, Blaise. She's one of a kind." A cold drawl came from the doorway, dispelling the jovial ambiance Blaise's arrival had created. Recognizing a veiled threat when he heard one, Blaise became stiff as his best friend walked into the room and pointedly took a seat directly across from where the dark-haired man was hovering above Narcissa.

"Now if you'll be so kind as to unhandle my mother?" Draco sneered.

"Oh, of course, sorry Aunt Ciss'!" he said in one of the few awkward moments starred by Blaise that Ginny had ever witnessed. Malfoy was really the life of the party, wasn't he?

"And what are you doing here?" He turned on her with a vicious glare. All manners that one- Ginny thought. Apparently his mother had noticed the blonde's lack of tact as well, for she quickly berated him.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy, behave!"

"My sincerest apologies, Mother," he conceded, all fake pleasantness. "So, Ginevra." His voice was polite enough, but his eyes were filled with so much contempt Ginny was a little taken aback. "What brings you by?"

"I came on your father's bidding,"

"You don't say!" Draco commented flippantly. Used to warding off bullies she chose the effective path of ignoring his taunt.

"to alert him of the completion of the mission he assigned me." Ginny offered grudgingly. She couldn't very well be rude to Draco in his own house, but she also wouldn't bow down to his will like everyone else seemed so eager to. As little as she'd volunteered, the weight of what she'd left unsaid, the true depth of her words sunk in on all the four people, and Blaise, not a big fan of uncomfortable silences, blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

"Ding-dong the wizard is dead!"

"Blaise Emanuel Zabini, that was most distasteful." Narcissa sounded scandalized, while Ginny fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. All of them knew there was no love lost between the Weasleys and the Malfoys and that the only reason she was chiding Blaise was for propriety's sake. Hypocrisy truly was the best social lubricant.

"Now, why don't you come to keep me company in the drawing room, honey?" she proposed in a tone that left no room for argument. Blaise was on his feet before she'd finished speaking. "Draco, you children should go up to Lucius' study and discuss whatever it is you need to."

"Aw, Aunt Cissy, why am I getting left out?" Blaise whined sullenly as he followed the imposing socialite out of the room.

"Pouting is most unbecoming for a young man of your standing, dearest," she preached automatically in a way that confirmed to Ginny this must have been about the millionth time Narcissa had proffered those words. If she ever decided to divorce Lucius, the blonde could have a bright future as a beauty pageant judge.

"Don't worry, Zabini. I'm here on official business, and the information I have is classified and should be delivered to Mr. Malfoy only."

At Ginny's offhand comment, Blaise and Narcissa stopped their retreat, both ready for the argument that didn't take more than a second to come.

"I am my father's representative in his absence, Weaselette," Draco stated as Ginny knew he would. In his letter to her Lucius had warned this might happen and had firmly instructed her to keep her lips sealed, even to his offspring. She'd never been more pleased to follow an order.

"I'm his son and heir and what he knows, I know. I realize your breeding didn't prepare you to deal with the old bloodlines, but you'd do well to remember your place in the grand scheme of things." 

Draco's little tantrum might have had an impact on Ginny, had she not heard a variation thereof from him every single day since she turned twelve. As it was, she almost relished it, for she had just the right answer in the tip of her tongue.

"Well, it would appear you're mistaken, Draco." She'd started using the first name she knew he hated and considered a disrespect when coming from those he saw as beneath him. Some tricks never got old.

"Whether your father has you in his confidence is of no consequence to me. I haven't pledged my allegiance to the Malfoys. And while I have the utmost respect for your parents, your temporary mild discomfiture matters very little to me," she said in a snotty manner that would've put Pansy Parkinson to shame. 

Turning triumphantly to her hostess, who was the closest that Narcissa Black Malfoy would ever look to a gapping fish; Ginny used her last card in the little 'humiliating Draco' game she had planned for tonight.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Narcissa, but I think I will come back at a better time." 

Playing right into her hand, the statuesque blonde rushed to smooth things over. She had been married to Lucius Malfoy for over twenty years; she knew not to go against his orders.

"No, no please, Ginevra, stay."

"Let her go, Mother." Draco sneered spitefully, too convinced of his own self-worth to realize that in this specific scenario he didn't have the priority when it came to his parents.

"Draco, off to your room right now!" Narcissa scowled, livid. Draco practically growled back at her, and Blaise, prone to nervous laughter, broke out in giggles that got him scolded as well. "You too, Blaise."

When neither of the astonished men moved to comply, the blonde woman shrieked, pointing towards the stairs leading to their private quarters. "Don't make me repeat myself, young men!"

Looking thoroughly bewildered that his mother would treat him like an unruly young child in front of company, over a sodding Weasley, no less, Draco mumbled indignantly as he stomped across the room heading to the foyer, where he picked up a random robe, put it on haphazardly and left, almost causing the front door to come off the hinges in his outrage.

Blaise, who had finally reigned in his own inappropriate demonstration, stared befuddled at both women for a split second before shrugging and taking off after his best friend.

Probably accustomed to her son's outbursts, even though it was plain to see she was extremely mortified by this latest one, an ashen looking Narcissa Malfoy turned apologetic eyes on her guest.

"I'm so sorry, Ginevra." And the young woman was surprised at the genuine feeling behind the words.

"It would displease my husband greatly to know we were the reason you didn't perform a task he assigned." And now she understood what all the groveling was about. Lucius Malfoy had that effect on people.

"Stay. Lucius must be coming home very soon. And excuse my son; it's partially my fault, really." The Amazonian woman made a small pause as if she was giving the other woman space to disagree, but Ginny wasn't going to.

Narcissa's coddling and pampering of her only heir had been notorious in the Hogwarts Great Hall; she'd sent her son as many Honeydukes combos as Molly Weasley had sent Howlers.

"I've raised him to understand his place in the world and to never be afraid to step up to the responsibilities trusted to him by his noble origins." Ginny wanted to gag; even Lucius's stern treatment of the boy was starting to seem justifiable if that was the way Narcissa always dealt with her son's faults.

"He is having a hard time adapting to a different ranking system."

"I understand that your son was mostly raised in a time of peace, and that such sensitivities weren't really instilled in him," Ginevra started, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "But in this setting he's a soldier, and he needs to start acting as such," she continued seriously. Someone needed to drive the critical state of affairs home to Narcissa; maybe she could get it through Malfoy's thick skull.

"I'm not the first one displeased by his insubordination, and I'm afraid that at some point he'll step on the wrong toes and others won't be so lenient."

Honestly, if they'd been having this talk four years ago Ginny could've cared less. But ever since her first mission as a Totenkopf and the mess it had created she'd been feeling a certain obligation to make amends with the smug Slytherin. Not that she had been wrong, she had just been following orders, or that he deserved her consideration, but she couldn't seem to shake off this sense of responsibility for the way he'd turned out.

Plus Blaise was one needle short of tattooing the bloke's name on his ass, and she had a soft spot for the rowdy playboy, so she would be magnanimous and at least warn his family that Draco's cantankerous attitude was leading him to an abyss.

"Draco needs to decide if he wants to fall in line or be run over by the train."

"Trust me, Ginevra, I know." Narcissa frowned apprehensively, and Ginny was sure this was the most emotion she had seen the woman display in the whole time she'd known her. Maybe there was such a thing as honor among thieves.

"I keep telling him that his father's position on the inner circle will only take us so far and that he has to start pulling his own weight. Some of the other families can afford to take a neutral stand, but the Malfoys have always been the most loyal supporters and the Dark Lord will not take well to any changes."

The blonde woman's voice conveyed pride for their long standing tradition, but her eyes let through a certain bitterness that Ginny guessed was directed at the woman and her family's lack of free will utterly crushed under the weight of their name and the sins of their fathers.

"But Draco seems immune to my every plea. Maybe you could talk to him?"

Ginny's open expression of mixed horror and bafflement at that prospect caused Narcissa to quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose, but Camilla Zabini told me the wonderful effect you've had on her boy." 

Now here was the Narcissa Malfoy everyone knew and envied. She would not be deterred from getting her way even if she had to use guilt. Her appeal would fall on deaf ears with Ginny, though. They might have both been born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but that was where the similarities between the two men ended. Blaise was no saint by any means and he could be as mulish as the next guy when it came to taking advice, but Draco was simply unyielding. The redhead had enough on her plate already, thank you ever so much. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but recruiting isn't my expertise," she started cautiously, as to not ruffle any feathers. These society ladies could get vicious when they felt they were being pretermited in some way. When the other woman was about to object, Ginny promptly cut her off in the politest way possible. "At least not in any way you would appreciate, and your son could benefit from. My favor to Camilla was personal. Plus, I can't really see Draco welcoming any meddling from me."

Not entirely convinced, but recognizing a rebuttal for what it was, Narcissa opted for a different approach.

"What's a desperate mother to do, then?"

Ginevra contemplated the other woman's options in silence for a minute.

"We both know the reasons for Draco's newfound rebellion against his destiny." When Narcissa nodded the redhead continued, "I have tried fruitlessly for the last three years to smooth things over with him but to no avail. It is most unfortunate that a personal ruse has made him feel such antipathy for Our Lord's ways and Voldemort has done his best to be tolerant and look the other way,"

Good news first.

"But his patience is wearing thin."

Then the bad.

"Oh, don't say that!" the blonde begged in a high-pitch in tangible agony. However Malfoy construed this hold he had on people Ginny had absolutely no idea. The man was intractable, plain and simple; whatever caused this adoration was beyond her. And from intelligent people, too. Blaise, Professor Snape, even Voldemort himself--otherwise he'd just have had Draco killed off instead of pushing so much for him to take a bigger interest in the Coalition.

"But there's surely something Lucius can do? Or someone who could put in a good word for him?" Narcissa asked, sending Ginny on a new spiral of thought. All people who could intervene on the blond git's behalf already had done so, that was exactly the problem. The time for talking was over.

"And say what? Voldemort is a very busy man so he delegates, but your son shouldn't delude himself into believing he's unaware of what's happening. He knows everything, he sees everything. And everyone but Draco seems to realize that. No one wants to be caught lying on his behalf."

"So there is no hope?" she whispered, disheartened, finally seeming to grasp the quicksand her son was in. 

"Our Lord is merciful to those who deserve it, to those who can redeem themselves in his eyes."

Ginny abstained from pointing out the Malfoys were the greatest example of that.

"Draco doesn't need to be on the front lines, he doesn't even have to be an especially active agent. But he needs to show some sort of improvement."

The other woman sighed wearily, displaying a soft vulnerability that made Ginny understand why so many men were willing to bend backwards to be her shinning knight.

"I know you children don't always see eye-to-eye, Ginevra, but Draco is very lucky to have a friend like you looking out for his best interests."

And that small show of gratitude made Ginny feel a tightening in her chest. Draco might be a thankless jerk who cared only for his own well-being, but through all her proper breeding and self-imposed distancing, Narcissa Malfoy seemed to be a truly worried mother who was just trying. She remembered what that was like. And now she was getting nostalgic which was an extremely bad idea. The time had come to finish this little interlude.

"Like I've told you before, Narcissa. While I do appreciate some of my colleagues and their families, my ultimate goal is the success of our enterprise." Ginny broke the amiable atmosphere with the return of her usual standard business tone. "Draco would be a nice asset if we could employ some of his especial skills to our cause, that's all."

"Still, I'm deeply grateful for your concern." Narcissa said much more formally, picking up on the redhead's cue

"It's nothing more than the girl's due, right Miss Gaunt?" Lucius Malfoy asked from the foyer, startling both women. He was dressed smartly in a black suit with a grey silk tie, the perfect Muggle businessman, were it not for the dark robes and mask he had draped on his forearm. If anyone passed him by in the building they would guess he was coming back from a costume party. The gash on his forehead told a different story.

He walked into the room and nodded at Ginny as he laid his "work clothes" on the sofa next to Narcissa. She stood up and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips while as inconspicuously as possible feeling him around for broken bones or other injuries. After so many decades with him she knew better than to ask where it hurt. Different from their son, who loved to draw attention to himself and would make a skinned knee sound like leprosy, the senior Malfoy hated any sort of display that made him seem weak. The last big argument they'd had was when Lucius almost lost his left foot because he'd disregarded a huge open wound he'd gotten from a Diffindo charm the night Harry Potter had destroyed the former Slytherin's prefect wand.

After a fifty minute scolding she had Hippocrates Smethwyk floo to Malfoy Manor to nurse her husband back to health. Then she had owled Severus and demanded he schedule a conference with the Dark Lord himself. The former Potions teacher had been reluctant at first but was met with such a pigheaded determination he'd finally caved. Three hours later Voldemort was cackling uncontrollably at the deranged woman who had barged into his private study, without knocking or being announced, saying that if her husband couldn't walk anymore she would hold him personally responsible and there would be hell to pay, "with all due respect, my Lord", she had finally added, remembering who she was talking to and resuming to gracefully dropping to her knees in front of him. He waved off her belated display of reverence and said that Lucius would never set foot, hopefully feet, he amended when he saw her ire rekindling at the mention of Lucius's imaginary dismemberment, for as long as he lived.

So she thought it rather strange he was coming home bruised and battered. Nevertheless, she would keep her cool and wait until they didn't have company to interrogate him

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized while giving Narcissa a grateful look for her sensitivity. 

"It's fine. Mrs. Malfoy kept me entertained the whole time." Ginny smiled graciously

"Yes, she is good at that." He patted his wife's hand. "I trust Draco hasn't given you too much grief about my orders?"

From Narcissa's delicate intake of breath he could just about guess what had happened.

"No more than usual." The redhead shrugged, not really interested in causing any more disruptions in the family that night.

"Poor girl!" Lucius laughed heartily as he poured himself a healthy dose of Firewhisky. "Miss Gaunt?" he offered, but Ginny just shook her head. "And I was told Blaise was coming by? You were double-teamed then?"

Ginny had to smile at the man's insightfulness; then again, she guessed he shared a very similar friendship dynamic with Severus Snape.

"It takes little more effort than that to swat an annoying fly to get rid of Blaise's questions." She responded, deciding playing down the situation would be to everyone's advantage.

"Yes, well, the boy has maintained the same attention span he had as a three-year old," he said fondly, resting the tumbler on the fireplace mantel and squeezing Narcissa's shoulder affectionately as he motioned with his head towards the stairs.

"Let's go up to my study then, Miss Gaunt. Narcissa, love, when your son gets home…" The good mood he'd been displaying before seeming to dissipate a little at the mention of his heir.

"I'll tell him to go to you." Narcissa complied obediently.

**Chapter End Notes:**  
The Walpurgis Youth was inspired in an interview by JKR.

"JKR made this comment during the Jeremy Paxman interview on the BBC, Thursday night, June 19, 2003, while looking at some of her notes on the books: "...here is the history of the Death Eaters and I don't know that I'll ever actually need it -- but at some point -- which were once called something different -- they were called the Knights of Walpurgis. I don't know if I'll need it. But I like knowing it. I like to keep that sort of stuff on hand."

More information on this can be found at: 


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